


winning small victories

by pennyofthewild



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, doughnuts, oikawa is a moron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:03:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3342953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyofthewild/pseuds/pennyofthewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living with Tooru is a worthwhile battle, as far as Hajime is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	winning small victories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [masi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/gifts).



> this is the story of how i cried over a doughnut and then realized that it was such an oikawa thing to do  
> also: please don't give cats pastries.
> 
> can also be read [**[here]**](http://pennysdrabbledump.tumblr.com/post/110865240536/winning-small-victories) at [my writing sideblog](http://pennysdrabbledump.tumblr.com/)!

Hajime comes home from his part-time job one evening to find Tooru standing at the kitchen counter, crying over a doughnut.

The doughnut is the last from a twelve-piece box Tooru brought home from Dunkin’ Donuts for Hanamaki’s birthday party two days ago (it had been Tooru’s idea; a good excuse for a team reunion; Hanamaki’s never been much of a cake person). It is a yellow filled doughnut, the kind with jam in the center and a smiley face piped onto it with chocolate frosting, like this:  :). At least, it used to be yellow. It is a mottled purple now, as if the jam has seeped through to the surface, probably because it has been sitting on the counter for the last forty-eight hours.

Hajime sighs, puts down his messenger bag, and goes to hit Tooru upside the head.

“The hell are you crying for, idiot?”

Actually, Hajime has an idea. Tooru has always been a sentimental sort of fool, and crying over an unwanted doughnut is totally in-character for him. By now, Hajime almost expects these things, like he expected Tooru to say no to keeping a pet (“Animals aren’t mean to be kept as pets, Iwa-chan.”), and how he insisted on buying two new coffee mugs – instead of the one they needed to replace Hajime’s broken one – because they were the only two left on the store-shelf (“If we buy one, the other will be lonely, Iwa-chan.”).

Tooru has an infuriating habit of breathing a soul into words and actions and inanimate objects, which is why their bed is currently home to Tooru’s treasured childhood stuffed animal collection (including, and not limited to: a killer whale, two penguins, a turtle, and a worn-out teddy bear), and why Hajime can’t stretch out in the middle of the night without hitting a seal or a shark in the face.

Tooru sniffs, pathetically, in a way Hajime should not find endearing. “You should’ve told me you didn’t like jam doughnuts, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, choked up, which is his way of saying (I’m crying) because Nobody Wanted It, eyes bright and shiny with tears.

For some reason – probably because of sustained exposure to Tooru’s brand of crazy – Hajime feels like crying, himself. Not because of the doughnut – he’s sure they can find a stray cat or two that could make quick work of it, but because Tooru feels like this is something to get upset over – that he – God forbid – sees a little bit of “himself” in the doughnut, that he seems to entertain the idea that _he, somehow_ is going to be left on a counter one day to bleed mottled purple over perfect milk-tea brown.

Hajime presses his lips together. He goes to the cupboard and pulls out a plastic box that had once housed a block of tofu. He takes the doughnut from the plate in Tooru’s hands and places it in the box. Then he walks over to the kitchen door – it opens into the backyard – drags back the screen-door behind it, and sets the box-and-doughnut down.

It takes several minutes, but then a curious feline head – and a companion or two – appear (out of thin air, in the manner of cats) to investigate. It probably isn’t a very good idea to give cats sugar, but the strays don’t seem to mind (they wouldn’t). Very soon, the box is empty.

Hajime gives Tooru several tissues. He waits while Tooru wipes his eyes and blows his nose.

“I was going to yell at you for not having dinner out for me,” Hajime says while Tooru is occupying himself with folding the tissues into a very neat square. “It was your turn tonight. But I find I am tired, all of a sudden, and don’t feel much like yelling after all. There’s a new place opened on the corner. Reviews say it’s worth checking out. What do you say?”

He feels strangely breathless, after he’s finished talking, as if he’s run a mile, or given a speech in front of a crowd.

Tooru raises his head and gives Hajime a watery smile. Even with a blotchy nose and red-rimmed eyes, he still manages to take Hajime’s breath away. He swallows, and Hajime forces himself not to stare at his mouth. He’d probably taste like snot and tears if Hajime kissed him, anyway.

“Sure,” Tooru says, sounding a little less choked than before, and allows Hajime to put an arm around his waist and steer him towards the door. It gives Hajime a gratified sort of feeling, like he’s been through a serious conflict, and come out no worse for the wear.

After all, it is important, Hajime thinks as he bullies Tooru into a hat and gloves and presses a rough kiss against Tooru’s temple, to be grateful for the small victories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-fin

 


End file.
